and she'll always be the same
by effervesced
Summary: "Oh, Finn," she kisses his mouth this time, "Life will be perfect as long as we're together." A series of short little Finchel moments.


_(I was so sleepy I accidentally deleted this awhile ago! So I reuploaded it. I'm so sorry!)_

 _Hi guys. This is so random, and I honestly never thought I'd be able to write Finchel again, but last night as I listened to music, this came to me. Strongly inspired by "She's Killing Me" by A Rocket to the Moon. That song just screams Finchel, in my opinion. Hence this short oneshot._

 _This is very, very, **very** fluffy! Just cute little Finchel moments because they're still my babies no matter what._

* * *

Kurt invites everyone in Glee club to come to their house on a mildly hot Saturday. It was kind of a spontaneous decision, really, but he claims that it's just the _most gorgeous_ day to go for a swim and they just _had_ to hold a pool party, especially since their parents aren't around.

" _This day just_ calls _for a pool party, Finn_. _"_

Needless to say, that's how Finn found himself at their backyard, surrounded by food, music, incessant chattering, and all of his friends who are messing around with each other. The guys are playing volleyball in the pool, all of whom are constantly yelling for him to join them. He would, really, but the one person he wants to spend time with has yet to arrive.

"What's taking Rachel so long?" he asks to no one in particular.

"You should call her. I love her to death, but she's _your_ girlfriend, not ours," Kurt says in reply. Finn doesn't even get to say anything back before his step-brother's already walking away and towards the direction of Mercedes.

He pulls out his phone and makes to call Rachel. She picks up on the third ring, as she usually does whenever he calls. (He still finds it weird, really, but she always says that a girl never picks up on the first ring.)

"Hey babe," he greets even before she says anything, an easy smile sliding across his face. "Where are you? Everyone's already here." He starts walking aimlessly inside the house just to block out the loud music booming in the backyard.

"I'm still at home," she says, and he hears a rustling sound before she continues, "I can't find my favorite swimsuit." He can almost hear the pout in her voice. He feels himself grinning now, the thought of one of her many adorable expressions popping into his mind.

"The pink one with the little white bows?" he asks. "It's okay, baby, just wear a different one. You'll look cute whatever you wear." It's the truth. In fact, she looks cute even at times when she isn't trying to be.

"But I wanted to look pretty. Pink always makes me feel pretty," she replies.

"You'll look pretty in anything - and in nothing," he teases. "Seriously though, just wear a different pair of swimsuit, I'm sure you'll still look pretty. And cute. And hot." He pauses. "You know I think you're perfect regardless of what you're wearing, right?" He tries to sound as sincere as he can. Christ, he just wants to see her, and it's already nearing 6:30 PM and she's still not here. He really hopes his expectations for this pool party with Rachel won't be destroyed just because she can't find her favorite swimwear.

She sighs. "You're very sweet, you know," she tells him, and again he hears a rustling in the background. Immediately, he figures out he's finally convinced her to believe him. He suppresses the urge to fist-bump himself.

"Are you sure you don't want me to pick you up?" he asks, and who cares if he's already asked her that maybe the hundredth time today?

She sighs again, and after being with her for quite a long time now, he can tell she's rolling her eyes. " _Yes_ , I'm sure. You have guests to attend to at your house."

"They're our friends, though," he points out, "and you and I both know they won't give a shit if I leave." He laughs a little, and she joins him with a soft one of her own.

"I would have to agree with you on that, I suppose," she says, "But really, Finn, I can go drive there myself. I'll leave our house now."

"Awesome. Take care, baby. See you."

"Okay, Finn," she says, her voice sing-song and exasperated. "Love you so much."

He grins, says, "I love you much more," before she finally hangs up.

He turns to go back to where the party is, only to come face to face with Puck.

"Damn, Hudson," his friend says, taking a swig of his beer before smiling at him mockingly. "You are _so_ whipped sometimes it makes me forget that you're actually a dude."

He flips him off with a wave of his hand.

No use in denying the truth anyway.

* * *

"You're wearing your Simpsons shirt."

He jumps at her voice behind him, about to say something, before his words get caught in his throat at the sight of her.

She's wearing a white see-through cover-up dress over a dark gray bikini, the top doing one hell of a job making her boobs seem bigger and more round (not that he doesn't love them the way they are), and the bottom cut in a way that's just enough to cover her… _there_.

He feels his erection strain his swimming trunks. "Rachel," he voices out, not recognizing his own voice under all the huskiness. "You look amazing." Fuck, he can't take his eyes off of her.

She blushes under his gaze as she walks toward him. "Thank you," she murmurs, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.

On instinct, both his arms move to wrap around her waist, pulling her closer until their hips are attached. He vaguely registers the faint gasp she produces before he brings his mouth down onto hers. Her hands find their way to his hair, fingers weaving through the strands as she deepens their kiss.

He's the one to pull away, afraid that if they don't stop, he's going to wind up taking her to his bedroom and forget about the party.

"You're wearing your Simpsons shirt," she repeats her words from awhile ago, her mouth still so close to his that he can feel her breath molding with his.

He chuckles lowly. "I am," he says, "What's it to you?"

She pulls away further to glare at him. "You know I don't like that shirt," she says petulantly, crossing her arms.

He laughs. "I don't understand why, though," he says, "The Simpsons is a great show."

She gives him a withering stare, which only makes him laugh even more. His hands move to both sides of her face, his face leaning down again to kiss her nose affectionately. "Okay, I'll remove it," he acquiesces with both his arms raising for a moment. "I just wanted to see your cute pout in person," he whispers with a smile before taking off his shirt, tossing it to a nearby chair.

Her childish expression goes away, her smile finally matching the one he's still wearing. "You're so annoying," she tells him.

He laughs again, takes her hand, and leads her out to the backyard where everyone else is.

* * *

They perch themselves on a stool situated near the doors, with him sitting on the stool itself and her situated across his lap.

"I didn't actually drive here, you know," she says conversationally, one hand hanging loosely around his neck, fiddling with the hair at his nape. Her other hand delicately brings the bottle of beer they're sharing towards her lips, taking a small sip.

He frowns, tightening his hold on her thighs and waist. "What? Did you _walk_ here?"

She giggles, and her glassy eyes meet his clear ones. Obviously, she's drunken more than he has so far. "No, silly," she says, lowering her face to his so she can rub her nose along his. She's very affectionate when she's under the influence of alcohol. "My daddy drove me here." She then frowns at him in that way she always does when he's done something wrong, and he raises his eyebrows in question. _What did he do now?_

"I thought you were driving your car?"

Her frown deepens. "It went out of gas."

Now it's _his_ turn to frown. "While you're on your way here?"

"No," she stresses, "I noticed when I was about to leave."

He's still clueless as to why she's frowning at him like he did something terrible.

"And that's my fault?" he asks, confused but unable to hide the slight amusement in his voice. She's just really – adorable. There's honestly no other word for it.

"Yes," she says, nodding seriously.

 _What?_ "How is that my fault?" he asks defensively.

She shrugs her right shoulder. "I don't know," she says. "It just is."

He stares at her incredulously before laughter bubbles up his chest. "God," he says, pulling her body even closer to him. "You're fucking crazy, you know that?"

She laughs with him, burying her face in his neck after handing him the bottle of beer. "I know. But I also know that you love me for it."

"Yeah, I do."

Like he could ever feel otherwise.

* * *

Finn takes her to dinner and a movie a week before their graduation. He holds her hand almost all throughout the night, letting go only when absolutely necessary. He never, ever wants to be parted from her.

"Can you believe it? We're just a week away from graduation. And two from New York," she whispers from beside him. They're at the lake, now, spending the last hour in the serene place before he has to take Rachel home for her curfew.

He hums his agreement. He can hardly believe it, really. Time ago, before Rachel, he never would have pictured himself as someone who would be able to attain anything better than Lima, Ohio. But here he is, in arm's length with the pursuit of his dreams, alongside his favorite girl.

"I love you so much," he releases in a breath. He doesn't know why he just blurted it out, but as they sit on the grass, bodies so close he can feel the heat of hers, he had the sudden urge to say it to her right at this moment.

He can tell that she's smiling without even looking at her. "I love you so much, too, more than anything or anyone," she tells him, her words honest and raw.

"No. I mean, yes. I – ugh. I mean, I just _really_ love you, you know?" he stresses, finally looking at her. His eyes find hers in time with his long fingers intertwining with her small ones. "I never would have been here, so damn close to graduating with not even a single bad mark, if it wasn't for you. I never would have thought that I was capable of doing better than this town if I hadn't met you."

Her face softens, and his heart almost bursts in the affection he sees from her. _God, he fucking loves this girl so much._ "Finn . . ."

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You keep me dreaming. And believing. And I never did before."

A tear escapes her right eye; a soft laugh escapes her plump, pink lips. "You do the same for me, Finn. You keep me dreaming while also keeping me grounded." She scoots closer to him, kissing his cheek.

"I'm so glad I get to live with you in New York. And study education in NYU. Life couldn't be more perfect."

"Oh, Finn," she kisses his mouth this time, "Life will be perfect as long as we're together."

* * *

"What do you think about me getting a haircut?" she asks him as he walks her to her front door. It's just nearing 12 AM, so they have a few more minutes before her fathers demand she goes inside.

"Hmm. How short are you planning to get it cut?" He loves her hair, loves how long it is, but he's not going to stop her from doing something she wants to do.

She shrugs and contemplates. "I don't know, what do you think?" She fiddles with the ends of her hair as they reach the stairs, and she's avoiding his gaze. He knows this look. Her insecurities seemingly decided to pay her a visit tonight.

"I always say this, but I'm pretty sure you'll still look perfect to me, even if you go bald, Rachel," he tells her, to which she rolls her eyes. "Hey, it's true," he protests.

She breathes in, closes her eyes. He knows this look, too; it's what she always does when she's about to tell him what she really feels, so he waits patiently.

"I'm just – I'm scared, Finn. Of not fitting into New York."

He's stumped for a moment. "Why?" Okay, not the best response, but he's utterly confused. _Rachel Berry is scared of the idea of not fitting in?_

When she doesn't answer immediately, he takes it as his cue to continue on, "Since when did Rachel Berry care about going against the flow? I'll be with you no matter what."

She gives him a grateful look and finally looks like she's recovered her confidence in herself.

She nods affirmatively. "You're right," she says. "We'll make it work."

Hell yeah, they will. New York will be home in no time at all once they finally get there.

* * *

 _ **5 years later**_

He buys her the prettiest bouquet of pink roses he can find on his way home from work. The kids at the kindergarten he teaches at had him pretty worn out, but as he finally makes his way home, as he finally makes his way to _Rachel_ (because she _is_ his home), all traces of tiredness leave his body, replaced by happiness and pride for his girlfriend.

Last night, she received the good news that she's gotten the lead role on the Broadway production of _Wicked_ , her dream of playing as Elphaba finally coming true. He suggested they go out to dinner then and there to celebrate, but they wound up celebrating in their bed instead, the night filled with soft whimpers and moans and grunts.

He whistles to himself as he enters their apartment, grinning when he hears her singing from their bedroom.

"Rach?" he calls out, toeing off his shoes beside the door before bending down to carefully place them on the rack, knowing that it will please her if he keeps everything as orderly as he can. It's the smallest of efforts he makes that makes her feel the happiest most of the time.

"Finny!" she half-exclaims and half-sings, and he can't help but laugh as she practically skips towards his direction.

"I got you flowers," he says needlessly, holding them out to her.

She beams at him, her singing now reduced to absent-minded humming. "Oh, they're pink! Thank you, honey." She kisses his cheek. She examines them closer, and pouts at him. "Roses have thorns, though," she complains.

He rolls his eyes. "I'm well aware," he says. He kisses her forehead. "You don't like them?"

"I don't like the _thorns_ ," she replies.

Honestly – if she wasn't so cute, he would have been annoyed. But then he pulls a few inches away, and as he looks down, he catches her trying to hide her smile, her lips twitching up in the subtlest way.

He feels the warmth of his love for her creep inside him again.

Because her smile? Especially the special one she has just for him?

It's what keeps him going.

* * *

 _I'll mark this as 'Complete' for now, but if inspiration for Finchel hits me again I might write more. Thanks for reading!_


End file.
